Authors: Cate Kendall
So what was this reaction about? Maybe it was just the
unexpectedness of his announcement, Bella thought. What
would her therapist say? A glimmer of an answer shone
at the bottom of her mind. The glimmer intensified as it
floated up closer to the surface and she realised that she had
been avoiding this thought for a long time. Oh God, what
was wrong with her! It couldn't be, it just couldn't be . . .
Was it possible she still loved him?
Chantrea Kim exploded from the plane behind the last
straggling, jetlagged passengers. A tiny dynamo of energy
and frustration, she barrelled past two burly airport security
guards, almost bowling them over in her haste.
She'd been stuck on board with that insipid wet rag
Caroline for the nine-hour flight from Hong Kong; that
woman made the whole trip hard work.
She charged into the first ladies' room she came across,
wrestling her pin-tucked uniform blazer off as she pushed
through the door. Dumping her bag on the counter, she
struggled to pull her shirt over her head without unbuttoning
it as she replayed the trip in her mind.
The shrill cry of a grumpy infant blasting like an air-raid
siren from the moment its parents took their seats should
have given her fair warning that it was set to be a shocker
of a trip, she thought, spinning her skirt around to fiddle
with the clasp and escape its confines.
Then there was Pudgy Vomit Boy; what a delightful
mid-air treat he'd been. The little charmer had sent a spray
of projectile spew across three passengers just after take-off.
She'd spent her first hour on board cleaning up the remains
of his regurgitated Big Mac meal and offering First Class
amenities kits to his disgusted victims.
The lecherous advances of the First Officer, who tried
to go the grope every time she delivered refreshments
to the cockpit had increased her anger further, especially
when he'd whispered that she looked 'positively edible' in
her uniform. She'd nearly vomited herself.
Then what with Catering short-changing them
fifteen meals, one of the economy-class toilet sinks mysteriously
blocking up and three passengers with various
phobias, it had been a tough flight. She was shitty, tired
and over the whole business of pandering to demanding
passengers.
Clad in only her black lace bra and g-string, Chantrea
flipped back the cover of her wheelie case and began to rifle
through it. She pulled on black leggings, a vintage Merivale
and Mr John purple glittery top and added a long, purple
and apple green crocheted vest. Her burgundy Doc Marten
boots completed the outfit.
One more thing to go: she scrabbled in her toilet bag
for her favourite accessory, a bright purple hairpiece that
she clipped above her nape to create a funky and authentic-looking
mullet.
In front of the basin mirror she ruffled her slicked-back
androgynous hairdo into spiky points, smeared vibrant
purple eye shadow across her almond-shaped lids and
high cheekbones to obscure the airline's regulation Clarins
Taupe foundation. The bright shade enhanced her southeast
Asian complexion perfectly.
She shoved her uniform into her case and flew out of
the ladies' room and down the corridor, propelled by the
ease and comfort of her Docs. A quick glance at her chunky
plastic watch told her there was time to hit her favourite
vintage store in Oxford Street before picking Sally up from
crèche. A tendril of guilt at this decision gripped her conscience
but she quickly brushed it away.
*
Chantrea was always entranced by edgy Darlinghurst with
its glitz of hookers and queens, juxtaposed against regular
glimpses of celebs – it wasn't unusual to see Cate Blanchett
or Daniel Johns mooching along the street among the suburb's
beggars, trannies and home boys. Darlinghurst was a
wild place with a tinge of Sydney glamour, but like an old
slapper's Glomesh purse, its shine was tarnished and torn at
the corners.
Chantrea was in her element among the vintage fashions,
the daggy cast-offs and dusty interior of the second hand
shop, Decades. She quickly unearthed a body-hugging
vintage Pucci mini-dress with flared arms, which would be
perfect to wear to Stitch 'n' Bitch tonight. It would look
awesome with her new espadrilles.
She spent another hour rummaging through the treasures,
imagining their past owners and outings, and her
diligence paid off with a stunning caftan that had Cher
written all over it and a pair of white gloves the shopgirl
swore were once worn by Doris Day.
Hugging her purchases to her chest, Chantrea emerged
back into the sunlight and headed for a grungy Italian café
to drink a double espresso while she watched the passing
gay parade.
Her mobile announced a new message with a tinny
version of Dead or Alive's 'You Spin Me Round (Like a
Record)'. The very camp waiter did an impromptu dance
routine to the ringtone as he walked by.
The text message was from her friend Sam. It read:
'What on earth does a hetero father of two bring to a
mothers' sewing circle?'
Chantrea smiled. Tonight would be Sam's first foray into
the Stitch 'n' Bitch group. When Sera had called earlier in
the year to invite Chantrea to join a knitting group, she had
laughed openly at her.
'One thing I really can't ever see myself doing – or at
least not until I'm eighty – is knitting, thanks,' Chantrea
had said.
'But knitting is the new yoga,' Sera had argued. 'It's so
cool – everyone's doing it. Anyway, it's really just a good
reason to get together and have a couple of chardies . . . and
if we do make anything worthwhile we're going to donate
it to charity, the "Woollies for Wars" project.'
'Oh good lord, it sounds hideous,' Chantrea had
moaned.
'I promise it's very cool and hip,' Sera had insisted. 'It's
called Stitch 'n' Bitch.'
The name won Chantrea over. 'Oh, all right, I'll give it
a try,' she had agreed reluctantly.
At the first meeting, Chantrea had met Sera's sweet
friend Mallory and her neighbour Jacqueline (who was
much too uptight for her liking), and had discovered that
she had a real flair for knitting chunky, colourful garments
in mohair and cashmere.
Tonight she was introducing her own new Stitch 'n'
Bitch member, Sam, a single dad from Sally's crèche whom
she had chatted with at pick-up and drop-off. He seemed
lonely and very sweet, so she had dared him to come
and join their group. She was very surprised when he'd
agreed.
She chuckled at his troubled text and replied: 'Butterick
Sewing Patterns, lace doilies, eyelash curlers and an apron.'
On the timber table that filled the small office of his Bondi
Junction terrace, Sam's phone beeped. He apologised to his
client, dug the phone out from under the drawings for the
Woolloomooloo warehouse conversion and glanced at
the message from Chantrea. He grinned.
After he'd walked his client to the front door and vowed
to deliver the next update by the following week, Sam
checked his watch. He had just enough time to get to the
shops before picking up the girls.
Forty minutes later Sam was standing awkwardly in
the middle of a barn-like toy shop. Isabelle and Alexandra
needed costumes for a fancy dress party that weekend and
he had promised to find fabulous outfits for them.
After much bedtime whispering, Alexandra had
announced that morning that she wanted to be Mike
Wazowski and Isabelle wanted to go as Ariel. Sam had
responded with a vague 'Okay' as he listened to Isabelle
finish her reader and made school lunches while hastily
gulping down his coffee.
But now Sam was in a quandary. In one hand he held a
blue velvet Snow White dress, and in the other a blue-and-white-
striped B1 costume, and he stared at them both as he
wished he had taken the time to ask Isabelle who or what
Mike Wazowski and Ariel were. Since his wife had died
there had been countless moments where he had been lost
without her, and this was just one more to add to the list.
Staff members in the mega toy warehouse were elusive
and thin on the ground. Sam turned his head sharply to the
right as he caught sight of a blue-uniformed teenager whip
by. He turned quickly to the left as his peripheral vision
picked up another running across the end of the aisle using
a cut-out of Buzz Lightyear as a shield.
He trudged back to the information desk, where he was
quickly dissuaded by a long queue of disgruntled customers.
Right, this is going to require a proactive approach, he
murmured to himself, wandering over to a small boy who
was admiring the skateboards.
'Have a go,' Sam said breezily. 'I'm sure they won't
mind.'
The child looked up with a grin – it was all the
encouragement he needed. He dragged the biggest, meanest-looking
board off the shelf and jumped on, shrieking with
delight as he flew down the Barbie aisle.
The ploy worked like a charm.
'Hey kid,' a wavering pubescent voice called. 'You can't
play with that.'
The voice's acne-faced owner magically materialised
and scurried toward them. With a quick scowl at Sam, the
small boy ditched the skateboard and fled the scene.
'Damn it,' the gangly teen surveyed the state of the
once-pristine Barbie lane.
'Here, let me help you,' said Sam, picking up several
Chanel Barbies from the floor.
'Thanks,' the teen mumbled.
'Not at all,' Sam smiled. 'And by the way, I wonder if
you could help me?'
The boy's back stiffened as he bent to retrieve a Zen
Retreat Barbie. 'Oh, uh . . . well . . . I finish soon . . .' he
stammered, looking keenly at his Rip Curl dive watch.
'Costumes,' Sam said firmly. 'I need costumes.'
'Oh, yeah, cool,' the teen replied, relieved to have
escaped any greater demand. 'Aisle six. Knock yourself out,
dude.'
'No – ummm . . .' Sam looked at the boy's name
tag, '. . . Victor.' What optimistic parents, he mused. 'I
know
where
the costumes are,' he continued, before the
dishevelled creature could escape again. 'I just can't find
what I'm looking for. What is "Mike Wazowski"?'
'
Monsters Inc.
?' Victor replied sympathetically, as if sorry
for such an out-of-touch old man.
'Ri-i-ight,' said Sam uncertainly.
'He's a round green guy? A ball? With arms and legs?
And one eye?'
By now Sam badly wanted to smack each upper inflection
out of the teen's mouth.
'Okay,' he said patiently. 'What about Ariel?'
'Mermaid? You know? From
The Little Mermaid
? And
The Little Mermaid II
? Oh, and I think she was also in
The
Little Mermaid III
?'
'Do you have these costumes in stock?'
'I dunno, we might. We did. So we could. But we
mighta sold 'em, then in that case we wouldn't.'
'Hey, here's a crazy idea, how about you go and take a
look for me?'
'Umm, okay then,' Victor replied, his dull gaze on
Sam's face for a moment to gauge just how serious this
bloke was about him actually walking all the way over to
aisle six to check. Picking a pimple on his chin, he decided
Sam was pretty intent on it, so he turned and, dragging his
feet, meandered to the nearby aisle, with Sam following
close behind.
Victor flicked a cursory glance up at the wall of costumes.
'Nah, we haven't got them,' he said.
'What's this one?' Sam asked, holding up a circular
green shape with one eye.
'Oh, that's Mike Wazowski?' Victor replied. 'From
Monsters Inc.
?'
Sam held up a red-haired wig and a fish tail with a bikini
top attached to the hanger. 'And what about this? Is this
Ariel?'
'Nah, that's Ariel. Sorry we couldn't help.' The teenager
shuffled away, holding his pants up with one hand.
Sam sighed and headed for the checkout.
*
Jacqueline Bouvier had a to-do list a mile long today. It
had been long enough already until those boys of hers
had thrown more chores in her direction at breakfast. She
smiled indulgently; men, they'd be lost without women to
take care of them.
Joshua and Daniel both had exams coming up so Jacqueline
didn't mind at all that Daniel asked her to return his
DVDs to the video shop, even though it was next door to
his school. And Joshua asked her to drop Tyler's Wii games
back to his home in Longueville because Tyler was home
sick today and wanted them and Joshua was supposed to
take them to school yesterday and had forgotten.
And then the silly billy rang up the moment she was
back in the door from dropping them off at school (they
didn't enjoy catching the bus) – fancy forgetting his sports
uniform! Never mind, it was only half an hour out of her
way. Well, an hour if you counted the return trip.
Thomas needed his dry cleaning picked up, his fishing
rod taken in to the shop (the reel was sticking) and a few
bits and bobs picked up at Bunnings. He also needed her to
buy him new underpants. She had mentioned this morning
that she was very busy and might have to put the underwear
job off till another day, but his scowl over the newspaper
had convinced her she could make time for that task.
So after Bunnings she'd headed to DJs and bought her
husband's customary y-fronts, ignoring the jazzy lycra boxers
with their popsicle colours and body-hugging designs. Her
Thomas was a traditionalist when it came to his underwear,
and she appreciated his consistency.
Finally all her little jobs were done and her time was her
own. It was unusual not to be front and centre at home in
the late afternoon, but Thomas had a client dinner and the
boys were both at after-school sports and so Jacqueline felt
justified in indulging in a spot of shopping.
The dessert she took to this evening's do at Sera's house
had to be superb. Chantrea was bringing a new member:
a man of all things. Apparently he was a single father and
Chantrea had hinted that he was quite the lonely boy.
Jacqueline tapped her foot impatiently as she scanned the
shelves of House. She couldn't find just the right serving
plate. It couldn't be too feminine, given the male company,
yet should be delicate enough to complement her pavlova.
A bag of decorative clothes pegs caught her attention.
Each was shaped like a little person, painted in bright
colours with such sweet faces. She glanced over at the salesgirl,
who was busy showing a customer the glories of baked
enamelware. The pegs were too hard to resist.